One True Pairing: A Geek Girl Rom Com (Fandom Hearts)

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One True Pairing: A Geek Girl Rom Com (Fandom Hearts) Page 20

by Cathy Yardley


  “Aw, shit.” Cressida’s expression softened. “I’m sorry, that sucks. I know how badly he wanted it.”

  “Yeah,” Hailey said. He’d been so disappointed. Crushed. She’d felt that for him, felt terribly for him. She wanted so badly to fix it, and so damned helpless that she couldn’t. “Anyway, it’s not all bad news, I guess. His agent said his phone’s been ringing off the hook since our, you know, story. He’s got another job offer.” She swallowed. “A film.”

  “Well, that’s good.” Cressida rallied.

  “There’s this hot director that’s doing a shoot in South America. Main actor fell through—he wants Jake.” Hailey took a deep breath. “It means that he’s going off to Brazil. Tomorrow, I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  Hailey didn’t meet Cressida’s eyes directly, frantically looking around the room instead. “It wasn’t . . . it was just a con, Cressida. Just an act, remember?” She was trying to remind herself, desperately, she realized. “I don’t do long-term. I barely do repeats.”

  Cressida growled. “That is such bullshit, and you know it.”

  “I have issues,” Hailey said. “Okay? It’s not like I’m unaware that I am emotionally fucked up, especially when it comes to relationships. I get it. So yeah, I might have panicked when he asked me to go to South America with him.”

  “It’s a film shoot, not the end of the world,” Cressida pointed out. “Long distance might suck, but he’d be worth it.”

  “I think the opportunity could be huge for him,” Hailey said. “Can you imagine? He’d become a huge star. Doing movies all over the world, traveling all the time . . . various shoots, stuff like that. And he owns a place down in Los Angeles.”

  Cressida’s eyes narrowed. “Jesus, you’re not even going to give it a chance, are you?”

  Hailey shut down. “This is home for me, Cress. You, and Rachel, and the bookstore. You’re my North Star, my constant. I do whatever I have to, to keep you guys safe.” Her chin shot up pugnaciously. “I don’t walk away from that. And I’m sure as hell not going off with a guy who thinks I could.”

  “You’re scared, is what you mean,” Cressida accused.

  “What if I am? Jesus, aren’t I allowed to be a little scared?” Hailey couldn’t help it. She shouted. She rarely shouted at Cress, but Cressida didn’t usually poke this hard. “Why are you being such a hardass about this?”

  “Because you’ve got a great guy who’s in love with you!”

  Hailey blanched. “He didn’t . . . we’ve only known each other for, what, a week? Christ, this isn’t a TV show.” She rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t know me, I don’t know him . . .”

  She paused. Actually, he knew her better than most people. She’d trusted him, shared with him—more than she’d shared with anyone outside of her family or their little circle of friends. And he’d told her things about his past. They’d shared a lot in that week.

  “I’m not saying I wouldn’t be interested in finding out more. Maybe,” Hailey tempered. “But . . . there are so many problems. Too many. I’m just getting used to the idea of being in a relationship at all, and this is like diving into the deep end.”

  “Do you do things any other way?” Cressida asked with a little smile.

  “I don’t need someone else to take care of my shit.” Hailey stood up, pacing across Cressida’s plush rug, the one she’d hooked herself. It was the Tardis in the French countryside, done van Gogh style.

  “Besides, the bookstore’s only got two months’ worth of rent, and we still have a lot of bills,” Hailey said quickly. “God knows what other expenses might come up, and I’ve still got a lot of work to do. I’m not jetting off to wherever and losing my income. I’m not letting him pick up the tab for everything. I’m not getting a goddamned sugar daddy.”

  “No,” Cressida agreed. “You wouldn’t.”

  “So that’s that. Does it hurt? Sure. But I’ll survive.”

  Cressida was quiet for a minute.

  “I’m gonna go back to bed,” Hailey said, mentally going over the books she could read to try and distract herself, when Cressida’s voice cut through.

  “Please tell me you’re not giving up Jake because of the store.”

  Hailey blinked. “I’m ‘giving up’ Jake because we won’t work out,” she corrected.

  Cressida’s pale skin was hectic with color. “And you think you won’t work out because you’re tethered here. With the house, with the bills.” Her eyes were almost glowing with emotion. “You’re stuck here because of me.”

  Hailey rubbed her hands over her face. “Please don’t make my breakup about you. Okay?”

  Cressida pulled back as if slapped. Hailey hadn’t realized it was possible to feel worse than she had, but surprise! Now she did.

  “I didn’t mean that,” she said, and realized she sounded just like Jake. “I’m sorry.”

  “I am not an infant. I’m sorry the agoraphobia is so damned debilitating. It’s not like I haven’t tried—”

  “Do not do anything stupid like go outside again,” Hailey said, too loudly, too sharp. “I mean it. I am not up to that shit today.”

  Cressida’s eyes went wider, and filled with tears. “Out.”

  “Shit. Cress . . .”

  “OUT!”

  Hailey stepped out, turning. “I didn’t mean it. I . . .”

  “You are a control freak, Hailey Jessica Frost,” Cressida said, her voice so low and cold it sounded frozen. “I am grateful to you and your family for taking care of me, but I fucking hate that you feel like you can hide from your bullshit issues because I’m sick.”

  With that, she slammed the door in Hailey’s face.

  We have a woman . . . who is scared enough to hide behind her sick sister to prevent herself from being vulnerable. Jake’s words haunted her.

  “FINE,” Hailey yelled, and went to her own door, slamming it and then throwing herself down on her bed. She hadn’t cried in years, as far as she could remember. She might’ve teared up at a television show or two, but really, that wasn’t how she was wired. Now, hot, angry, heartbroken tears poured out of her like a faucet—the second time she’d wept that morning, and now she was weeping like a damned Disney princess.

  She had too many emotions, and absolutely no idea what to do.

  * * *

  After the blowup with Hailey, Jake caught a Lyft back from the lodge to the convention hotel, where the convention was finally shutting down, packing away memorabilia. He ignored lingering convention-goers, and caught Miles and Simon as they were checking out.

  “Hey, dude,” Miles said. “Great event yesterday. Glad we were there.”

  “I really appreciate it,” Jake said. They were good friends, with each other, he thought. They were good friends of his, he realized. He really, really wished that he could’ve done more with them, with the show. He was going to miss them. He had a lot of acquaintances, but not a lot of people he’d genuinely call friends . . . people he’d ask a favor of, like he had of them.

  That shook him, a little.

  “Want to grab breakfast?” Miles said, missing his little epiphany.

  “I want to get the hell out of this town.” Simon grunted. “But I could use some fuel first before going back to Vancouver. We’re skipping Seattle and just heading back. Four-hour drive, ugh.”

  Jake swallowed against the lump in his throat. “Breakfast sounds good.”

  “Come on,” Simon said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “I know a place nearby that’s pretty decent.”

  They went to a local joint in Issaquah and thankfully weren’t recognized.

  “So, here’s to a first successful convention,” Simon said, raising his coffee cup. “Fingers crossed, it’s the first of many.”

  “I’d love to go twelve seasons or more, like Supernatural,” Miles admitted. “I think Mystics has legs. The writing’s solid, the story line is different, and the showrunner’s great. And we’ve got some great stuff coming up next s
eason, by the way. I think my magic gets bumped up.”

  “I thought I heard Sarah mentioning something like that,” Simon said. Sarah was the head writer, Jake remembered. Simon then glanced at Jake. “I heard that they’ve got some good stuff lined up for you, too. Miles and I have been lobbying.”

  Jake took a deep breath, pushing the egg scramble around on his plate. “You heard wrong, buddy. They didn’t renew my contract.”

  “What?” Miles said, eyes bugging out. He was loud enough to have several other diners staring at him. “That’s crap! I know that they like you on this show.”

  “That has to be the stupidest decision I’ve ever heard of,” Simon muttered darkly. “Seriously. This is bullshit.”

  Jake felt his chest warm for the first time since Hailey had shot him down and stormed out. “It’s been that kind of week.”

  “And you’re just going to take it?” Simon leaned forward. He was normally the jovial one, the devilish one. Now, he was stern, almost somber. “Damn it, Jake. You can’t let them just . . .”

  “Let them?” Jake repeated. “It’s their fucking show. What am I supposed to do?”

  “Fight for it!” Simon snapped back.

  “I’ve fought for plenty,” Jake said, thinking of Hailey—of how he’d tried everything, only to fail and push her away. “Did it ever occur to you that sometimes, you just lose?”

  “Not when there’s no good reason!” Simon pointed at him with his fork. “You’re great for the show. They’re finally figuring that out. If you let them cut you, you’ll both regret it. Are you really going to just slink away, tail tucked between your legs?”

  “What the hell do you want me to do?” Jake snarled. “Go up to the producers, get in their faces, demand that they sign me? What, because I’m such a big star?”

  Simon didn’t back down an inch. “I’m not saying be a dick, Jake. I’m saying find out what the hell’s really going on, and figure out a way around it! You’re not even going to try talking it out?”

  “Guys, I’m serious, this can’t be right,” Miles interjected, before Jake could address Simon’s caustic remark. “I was talking with the writing staff. They really, seriously want to work with you. We were talking about adding more jokes. You’re funny,” he said, in his forthright, gentle way.

  Jake couldn’t help but smile. “Well, the deal must’ve fallen through after they had that conversation.”

  Miles’s eyes narrowed. “What, exactly, did your agent say about the deal falling through?”

  Jake sighed. “That I wasn’t a big enough name. That I wasn’t the right direction for the . . .” He paused, what Miles said finally clicking. “Wait. You said that they were going to expand my part?”

  “Sarah said it herself.”

  Miles was tight with the writing staff, Jake knew. He suspected Miles might want to be a writer, himself. But that went against what Susie had told him—that they didn’t think he was a good fit for the show.

  “If that’s the case . . .” Jake frowned. “What the hell did change their mind? It wasn’t like I was asking for more money. I jumped through fiery hoops to show them how badly I wanted to be on the show.”

  What happened?

  “You could ask them yourself,” Miles pointed out.

  “What?”

  “They’re over in North Bend today. That’s what Sarah told me, although I think that was supposed to be a secret. That’s not far, is it, Simon?”

  “It’s totally not,” Simon said, grinning. “It’s like fifteen minutes away. Do you know where they are?”

  “Sarah said they were talking with the mayor,” Miles said, surprising Jake further. “Probably going to do something like scout locations for an episode or something. Let me text their admin, see where they are.”

  “So, Jake,” Simon poked, “you gonna go handle this, or keep being a punk?”

  Jake shot Simon the finger, causing him to laugh. He threw some money down on the table. “I’m going to go handle this.”

  “Atta boy,” Simon said, then reached into his pocket. “Here, take my car. Remember: don’t be a dick, but don’t walk away until you figure out what the hell happened.”

  “And get back on the show!” Miles added.

  Jake nodded. He had nothing to lose. This was what he really wanted—and it would put him four hours closer to Hailey. He’d been a punk there, as well: he respected her decision, but he wasn’t going to give up on her that easily, either.

  This was the future he’d seen. And both were worth fighting for.

  Chapter 11

  Hailey could tell Cressida was well and truly pissed. She didn’t come down to work in the bookstore, texting Hailey—texting, from her damned bedroom, not even to saying it to her face!—that she wasn’t feeling up to it. That she “couldn’t handle it.” And yes, she’d added quotes, as an added slap, referencing Hailey’s treatment of her as an “infant.” Hailey was hardly in the mood to deal with it, but she didn’t have the coffee shop shift now, and the bookstore was getting customers in. Which meant that there she was, manning the register.

  She was re-reading William Gibson’s Pattern Recognition for probably the fiftieth time. They’d gotten a wave of people in from the con, people who would be leaving that day. They were disappointed that the memorabilia had all sold out. Some had bought sci-fi novels, some romance novels, and lots had added their names to the mailing list that Rachel had set up on their website.

  Hailey was hardly an optimist—okay, she was never an optimist. But this looked good. It looked promising. The town’s population was growing like crazy, with lots of fandom-hungry kids. Seattle and the surrounding areas had more conventions than you could shake a stick at: Sakura-Con, Emerald City Comicon, and a bunch of new ones every few months. If Frost Fandoms could bring in the business from those, and keep it going, then Cressida could stay here as long as she wanted. They could all stay as long as they wanted.

  But was this what she wanted?

  She frowned, putting her book down, choosing to straighten shelves instead. Cleaning, she realized—which meant she was stressed. She compulsively cleaned when she was anxious.

  She was used to taking care of herself and taking care of Cressida. She’d expanded that to taking care of Rachel, too, even though Rachel was older. Rachel had been alone with Grandma Frost for years, when their mother had run off to L.A. and Grandma Frost had refused to let her take baby Rachel with her. Rachel had never known their mother, but she’d led a nice, sheltered life here in the small town instead. She didn’t know how horrible life could be. Not like Hailey and Cressida did. So Hailey did what she could to shield them both. She made sure that there was enough money in the till. She devoted her life to her family.

  Was she hiding behind it, though?

  She frowned. Worse . . . did she love Cressida because Cressida was physically incapable of leaving her?

  What kind of fucked-up psychosis was that?

  She dusted, hunting down every speck like they were war criminals.

  Was that why she’d spiked the relationship with Jake? Because he could leave—more than likely would leave—and she just couldn’t risk it?

  She’d never had a relationship, much less fallen in love. And for fuck’s sake, it was just a week. Nobody fell in love in a week. That was Lifetime Christmas movie shit. It made you feel good, but it was a sugar rush.

  It always left a crash.

  “I’m not a fucking groupie,” Hailey muttered to herself. At this rate, she might pull out their ancient vacuum. Or clean windows. Her skin felt like it was crawling.

  Her mother had chased relationships, left her alone to fend for herself. She’d left Rachel behind completely, for fuck’s sake. Worse, her mother had blamed her groupie behavior and her man-junkie tendencies on the fact that Rachel’s father was her one true love, the one she’d never gotten over. Why that meant she went out and found a bunch of men to take care of her after, Hailey had no idea.

  Of course,
that might be why she felt so strongly about being “taken care of” by a man. Any man.

  Hailey sighed, closing her eyes, leaning her forehead against the wall.

  I’m not doing this. She’d made her decision. All the armchair quarterbacking in the world wasn’t going to bring Jake back from Brazil, and until she got her shit together, it was probably just as well.

  “Hello? Anybody here?”

  Hailey sighed, then turned, facing the questioner who’d just stepped in. “Yes, hi, we’re open. Welcome to Frost Fandoms. Can I help you?”

  The woman was very thin. Her skin was sallow. She weighed maybe a buck twenty, soaking wet, but was tall and thin, like a sapling. Her hair was white-blond, like corn silk, and her eyes were a faded denim blue-gray.

  “You’re Hailey, aren’t you?” The words were just over a whisper, and slightly singsong. She didn’t look straight at Hailey.

  A few more people wandered in, wearing Mystics sweatshirts and laughing raucously. Hailey waved at them, then looked back at the woman. “Yes, I’m Hailey Frost. My sisters and I own this store. Looking for anything specifically?”

  “Just you,” the woman said. “I’m—”

  ‘Hey, is there anything signed left?” one of the newcomers interrupted.

  Her companion, a sunny-faced guy with a flamboyant bouffant and a rainbow scarf, winked. “Girl, tell me you’ve got autographed pictures.”

  “They all sold out,” Hailey said. “We should be getting more in, though, and we’ve got lots of other fandom stuff.”

  Just like that, the visitors started snapping up tchotchkes and trinkets, and going through the books. Hailey felt a burst of relief, and gratitude, as she turned back to the thin woman. “Sorry. What can I do for you?”

  The woman sighed. “Well,” she said, and pulled out a knife. “I guess you could die. For starters.”

  * * *

  Jake managed to track down the producers, Phil and Veronica, on the main drag of North Bend. It was brisk, but the sun was shining—they were scouting the location, pointing to various restaurants and shops and buildings. He’d rarely talked to them in the past, only during a wrap party or the season intro stuff. They were more hands-off than other producers. He walked up to them, trying to keep his anxiety and impatience in check.

 

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